


All She Wanted

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyota knew there was no such thing as a perfect guy; she kind of wanted one anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All She Wanted

All She Wanted

When Nyota had been a little girl, she had dreamed of a perfect life; a nice house, a quiet yard, a friendly dog. Once she had passed the age range at which boys were virtually unimaginable in any sort of future, she even added one of them—the perfect boy, one that she could spend time with all day and not want to throw mud in his hair at the end of it. When she reached age twelve and hit what her grandmother called “the princess phase” that perfect future changed to a castle, a prince, and a horse. When she turned sixteen, that dream became a really attractive, really decent guy who was employed—doing what, she didn’t care—and who could take care of the mountain of babies they were sure to have one day while she traveled the stars; that dream stayed with her for years, long enough to drive away any potential boyfriends in high school.

By the time Nyota hit twenty-three, the dream didn’t have a guy in it at all; even her subconscious had given up at this point, it seemed, and she was remarkably okay with that. Her new dream was much easier, and some might say much more ambitious: to travel the stars, to be the best in her field, and to make Lieutenant rank before she hit her late twenties.

Ironically enough, it was only once she stopped dreaming about the perfect guy that she got one.

Spock wasn’t perfect. What he was was decent (check), employed (check), comfortable (check), really attractive (double check), and close enough to a prince (the son of an Ambassador, come on) that she felt the compromise was fair. In addition, Spock was intelligent, polite, and responsible—things which hadn’t been a part of her dream but damn well should have been—and he also seemed to genuinely value and care for her as a person, at least as much as he was able. Even more important than all of this, however, was the fact that Nyota loved him, very much. For the first year they were together, this was all that mattered, and all of the qualities he had were more side notes than reasons, and she was happy.

In their second year, however, reality began to poke its ugly head back into her world, because life on the Enterprise was far different than it had been at the Academy. The truth was, Nyota loved him, very much…and it was starting to cause problems for them both.

For the first time since she was very young, Nyota was truly afraid; afraid for Spock, and afraid for herself. She had a big heart—it had been remarked on time and time again—but she often had problems keeping her feelings to herself. She knew it caused Spock strain on occasion, but he had said more than once that it was helpful practice in strengthening his shields, so that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Nyota tended to love people too much, to a level that was often uncomfortable for them.

If Spock died, she didn’t know how she could function immediately. It was pathetic, dependent, but nonetheless an apparent part of her personality, and it had been obvious enough during the few crises that the Enterprise had experienced. When he was in danger or in a landing party, she was on edge and often unfocused. When he was stressed, her first urge was to go to him and somehow fix it. When he was openly pleased—rare as that was—she could barely see straight, she was so happy.

In short, it was dangerous. If they had been two normal people living a normal life, in a house with a dog or even in a castle, the issue would not have come to be, but what they were—two senior officers on a massive ship—made the situation apparent and critical. They couldn’t afford for one of them to lose focus, not with four hundred lives at stake. And while Nyota usually managed to stay professional, the risk was nevertheless there.

And so, without a moment of hesitation, she planned to let go of her dream.

********

The sex was fantastic; it usually was with telepathic species, and Spock was a quick study besides. While it was true that there wasn’t much variety in positions or location (Spock was predictable that way) the feeling of connection and contentment more than made up for the particulars. Or at least, that was how it usually was; this time, it was hurried and desperate and messy, as if they both knew that it was their last time together.

It was enough to bring tears to her eyes even while she lay there panting and Spock, being a contact telepath, picked up on her mood through her skin instantly. His face was blank as he settled onto his side, waiting. It was sheer politeness on his part; Nyota was well aware that he already knew what was on her mind. In fact, in their easier days, they’d had many conversations (or arguments, maybe) about Spock answering questions before she’d asked them.

It was such a fond memory—many of them were—that she was struck by a momentary flash of cowardice, and an urge to continue as they’d been before. She swallowed, and forced herself to answer the unspoken question.

“Spock. We need to stop.” It wasn’t the most descriptive of statements, but Spock understood nonetheless. Nyota was surprised that he didn’t agree immediately, in fact, since he’d no doubt been aware of the problems before she had noticed.

“You love me.” It was a statement followed by the brush of his fingers across her hair, and she tried to smile. In a human, the statement would have been arrogant; for Spock, it was as close to “and I love you” as anyone was ever likely to get.

With Vulcans, the unspoken words were always more important.

“Yes.” She wasn’t crying although it was getting a bit difficult to swallow, and she buried her face against his chest for what was probably the last time. “Too much.”

She knew Spock probably needed an explanation for that, but he didn’t ask. However unfamiliar with human courting rituals he was, he had probably understood the important thing. Nyota wondered if she’d ever be able to laugh about the fact that she’d practically given him a simplified version of the “It’s not you, it’s me” excuse.

They were silent, neither saying anything and neither willing to let go, but eventually, they did separate.

“I trust you will enter into another relationship after tonight.” The words sounded disinterested, but Spock was still petting her hair. He seemed to gain some comfort from the motion, although Nyota was sure it was unconscious on his part. She was brave enough to admit that she would miss it, since she knew that friends—well, Vulcan friends—just didn’t hold people and pet their hair.

“No. Probably not. Will you?” She hoped he would; the fact that she was apparently unable to handle her loved one being in danger didn’t mean that everyone would have that problem.

Spock shook his head slightly, the motion causing his hair to static against the pillow.

“Unlikely.”

He didn’t continue as he once would have; the beginning, no doubt, of their shift back to friends or maybe even mere acquaintances.

She was sad, but she let him go, knowing she’d breathe easier when he was gone.

********

The next day was indescribable, at least from Nyota’s perspective. By some unvoiced decision, they had agreed not to say a word about their split, since people would find out sooner or later—sooner, actually, if the way the crew immediately remarked on the fact they were barely speaking was any indication. She told herself it was for the best, but Nyota couldn’t stop the fact that she felt a twist in her chest every time she looked at him. Apparently, she couldn’t just turn her feelings off like a switch; she only hoped that they would disappear with time, or with a new, less risky relationship.

The problem was that Nyota had never been the rebound type. Even though she understood the motivation behind them, her first priority in life had never been sex, and comfort came in many less complicated forms. Comfort from _what_ , she didn’t know, but as she watched Spock move through the normal motions of an uneventful day on the bridge, stoic and stiff, she knew she needed it.

Her first choice for comfort had always been alcohol, and baring that, food. Since the Enterprise was a Federation flagship, alcohol consumption was strictly limited to off-duty hours, and never to the point of intoxication so that nobody embarrassed the Federation; Nyota found the normally acceptable limits stifling just then, but she accepted them. Already, her job had started to become more important, the way it should have been. So, instead of the mass amounts of alcohol she wanted, she went for chocolate and fruit—chocolate and pineapple, to be specific, although the replicator in the mess hall seemed to have a problem creating the tangy yellow fruit the way she remembered it. Nonetheless, she ate it in bulk until she thought that maybe she would be sick, and then she ate just a little bit more. She swore she’d go back to a healthy diet the next day, but for now, even the possibility of gaining weight didn’t seem to bother her.

What did bother her was the fact that someone sat down across from her mid-way through her fourth slice of pineapple.

Now, Nyota was an attractive woman; she knew it, because she had been plagued by men, women, and the occasional alien since her teen years, and they all said the same things. She had nice eyes. Her hair was pretty. She had an awesome figure. She was intelligent (the only one who had actually said that was Spock, as well as James Kirk to some extent, but the point remained.) So, it didn’t really surprise her that just hours after news of her break-up, they were already nipping at her heels; it _was_ a surprise to see that the person in question was the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott.

Montgomery Scott was not what Nyota would call a particularly attractive man, nor did he seem to have the sort of brilliance that she had become accustomed to after two years in space, working alongside Starfleet’s brightest and bravest. He wasn’t distinct in any way, he rarely seemed to socialize except with a select few, and he was the second officer—the first being the Captain himself—that Starfleet actually seemed hesitant to put on-board. These were her first impressions, at least; the truth was, Mister Scott—or “Scotty,” as he had quickly become known—was just as intelligent as everyone else aboard, if a bit more eccentric, and other than that, Nyota couldn’t say she knew him very well at all.

She smiled at him, and tried not to look like she was braced for an extremely bad pick-up line; she also tried to look like she wasn’t gorging herself on chocolate, but she doubted she was managing either of them well.

Montgomery Scott didn’t seem to notice.

“Are you alright there, Lieutenant? You seem a wee bit tense.”

Nyota took only a moment to decipher his thick accent—a Scottish man named Mister Scott, really?—before nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes. Just fine, thank you Mister Scott.” Her smile felt brittle on her face, but she hoped it was enough to make him feel like a Good Samaritan and go back to his engines.

He didn’t go away, and she braced herself again.

“Lieutenant…”

She sighed, and pushed another slice of pineapple into her mouth. There wasn’t enough chocolate on it. There wasn’t enough chocolate _on-board_ for this.

“Yes?”

_You have eyes like stars, your skin is the color of milk chocolate, you look like my next girlfriend. Let’s hear it, Mister Scott, so I can laugh it away and go back to my food._

Mister Scott didn’t miss a beat.

“Do you have any spare sounding circulatory boards? Lieutenant Kyle seems to think the shipwide intercom could do with a bit of a fixing.”

Nyota blinked and stared a little, but Mister Scott just smiled at her, waiting.

“I’m, ah, not sure. There aren’t any in Engineering?”

She munched on another piece of pineapple, careful to avoid the rind while he just shook his head sadly.

“I’m afraid not, Lieutenant. We’re due for some restocking, but it wouldn’t pay to have a crisis in the middle of space with a faulty intercom, now would it?”

He seemed perfectly amused, perfectly at peace, and Nyota actually smiled hesitantly at him.

“No, it wouldn’t. I’ll check to see if I have any spares first thing back on duty, Mister Scott.”

He nodded and stood. Only then did he eye the pile of food she had heaped in front of her, but there was very little reaction to what must have seemed like an odd choice for lunch.

“Thank you, lass. Oh—Miss Uhura, sorry.”

He looked almost-endearingly sheepish at the minor lapse in professionalism, and she did smile then, wide enough to dimple her cheeks. She couldn’t count the number of times she wanted to fly off in Swahili when the Captain was doing something crazy, or when she was happy; old habits—and speech patterns—died hard.

“It’s okay, Mister Scott.”

He nodded, and left. She watched him go, still smiling, before she turned back to her food.

Maybe she’d had enough chocolate after all.

********

Although Nyota might have felt foolish for automatically assuming Mister Scott was going to forget his higher rank and hit on her, her suspicions on the whole seemed well-justified by the end of the day, when two ensigns and one Lieutenant had done just that. She was pleased to note that none in her circle of friends—or even in her circle of preferred colleagues—were included in that statement, but it was nonetheless frustrating.

As a communication’s officer in dead space, it seemed that people thought she had nothing better to do than listen to their failed attempts to solicit her for sex. By the end of her shift, she had thankfully located a spare sounding circulatory board, and took the opportunity to bring it to down to Mister Scott personally as a way of escape.

The Captain dismissed her easily and with a completely non-lecherous smile, and Nyota spared just a moment to think of how much he’d _grown_ before the turbolift doors closed and began to move down, far into the depths of the ship. As a communication’s officer, Nyota spent most of her time in her department, having conversations in dialects and languages that changed too quickly for anyone but the most adept linguists to understand. As a primarily report-driven division that depended on maintaining neat, organized records, the communications department was very ordered if crowded with the occasional bulky volumes on a new language that was not yet compatible with Starfleet technology.

In comparison, the engineering department was sheer chaos. It was probably organized chaos—Nyota would bet her life on it, since everyone seemed to know what they were doing—but it was chaos all the same. Mister Scott seemed to be standing in the center of it, and his accent became ever thicker as he gave more orders, to the point that she could barely understand it.

“Ensigns Michelles, Clarence, Peters, team ane, haundlin’ the port nacelles! Ensigns Maren, Lawers, and Engineer Lake, team twa, haundlin’ the backup engine storage! The rest of you, mak yerselves useful!”

Nyota watched, and she was amused to see all of the Ensigns and secondary engineers scatter as soon as he gave the word. She wouldn’t have pegged him for a leader, but he’d been a Lieutenant before his banishment to Delta Vega, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.

He glanced around at what she imagined he viewed as his kingdom, and when he caught sight of her, his stern face was immediately replaced with the same friendly round one she’d seen earlier that day. She smiled, and held out the board he’d requested, which he hurriedly moved to take.

“Lieutenant, thank you, and it’s a pleasure to see you. You might want to step back a bit, though—my lads are opening up the lovely lady Enterprise.”

It took Nyota a moment to figure out what he’d just said, and when she did, she scrambled back several feet.

“They’re _what_?”

Mister Scott made a calming gesture, and jerked his head in the direction of the Enterprise’s nacelles, where four redshirted engineers were struggling with a panel.

“No worries, Lieutenant, it’s not dangerous. Just bright.”

As soon as he’d said the words, the panel was off, and a brilliant white light—clear and pure—filled the entire Engineering section while Nyota moved to cover her eyes. In just a moment it was gone, and replaced by one that was the faintest blue. One glance through her fingertips showed that the same engineers were gently covering the opening with screen after screen; blue, then red, then green.

The result was an oddly deep purple, and Nyota couldn’t believe the lack of light. She had no idea what they were doing, but as she could still see the contained power source, she knew it should have been brighter.

Mister Scott just smiled, and yelled something over her shoulder about making sure they kept the screens good and tight. He seemed to smile a lot, which was strange in such a serious profession, and especially so to someone who had gotten used to Vulcan non-expressions.

She smiled slightly, now that the apparent risk was over with.

“What on Earth are they doing?”

Mister Scott seemed to positively light up, and he launched into an explanation that was more enthusiastic than understandable. At the end of it, the engineer was grinning from ear to ear, so Nyota knew that it couldn’t have been completely for her benefit.

“Mister Scott, I didn’t understand a single word you just said.”

He smiled the same sheepish smile he’d worn earlier.

“Sorry, Miss Uhura—I forget sometimes that I’m not always talking to engineers. Radiation—the screens are to protect against radiation.”

Nyota frowned, and moved back a little bit more. Not that it would help against _radiation_.

“Shouldn’t there already be protection against radiation?”

Mister Scott nodded, and then he abruptly turned and went to the nearest engineering consul to monitor the process.

“There is. The radiation is within “acceptable limits” as defined by the E.P.A.” He scoffed, and it was the first time Nyota had seen him look truly annoyed, which—considering she had only seen him two or three times—wasn’t saying much.

“But considering the risk of death of being on a starship anyway, they’re not usually too concerned about how long someone will live after space travel. They—and Starfleet—consider only slight precautions acceptable, since anything more would detract from the productivity of the engines.”

Nyota gestured to the screens that were now being covered with the original panel. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the other team of ensigns doing something much the same to the other panel.

“And this?”

“Doesn’t interfere with the engines at all, Lieutenant. My own invention.”

For someone who claimed to have revolutionized safety in space, he sounded remarkably humble. Or disinterested, actually—even now he was on to something else.

She grinned—she wasn’t sure if it was fake humility or not, but considering that she’d obviously been wrong about him before, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Why, Mister Scott. I do believe you’re as brilliant as they say you are.”

Mister Scott turned and bowed deeply enough that she laughed before he turned back to his work.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Uhura. Let me just say, I never had any doubts about your intelligence.”

She smiled at his back.

“Thank you, Mister Scott.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, smile wide, but he seemed distracted.

“Don’t mention it, lass.”

Mister Scott didn’t seem to notice his lapse, and Nyota didn’t mention it. She just left quietly with a smile still on her face.

********

As the weeks passed, there were many things that Nyota missed about Spock. His heat in the middle of the night. His touch, whether comforting or passionate. His extremely well-hidden humor and fondness for puns. His intelligence. His compassion. And as long as she was making a list, fine, she missed the sex too ( _so, so much_.) In the end, however, their decision to split had the expected effects, too—when the Captain beamed down to do something foolish and Spock inevitably followed, she did not worry about him every second he was gone. Although she still loved him deeply, the urgency, the fear, the need to keep him close, was not quite as strong.

And as weeks turned into months that turned into a year, she wondered how much she had ever loved him if she could let him go so easily. It made her wonder, more than anything, if she just wasn’t capable of loving someone forever. The idea, in light of the loving family she’d grown up into, depressed her more than anything, and she tried to find that one relationship that wouldn’t consume her, but complete her. Oh, did she try.

Approximately two months after she and Spock had broken up, Nyota had started dating again. Ten months after that, she had gone through four boyfriends, three casual dates, and one friend-with-benefits (she didn’t like to mention that one, though, since said “friend” had been an Admiral.) It was always the same story—they were too arrogant, too afraid, too clingy, too distant. No one had a perfect balance, and if she’d had a female roommate (any roommate at all, really) she would have mentioned that most of them were bad in the sack, too. But she didn’t have a roommate. After her dating frenzy became common knowledge, she didn’t even have many friends; Gaila would have understood, but then, Gaila wasn’t here anymore.

So it was that two years into the Enterprise’s voyage, Nyota gave up. She stopped reaching for relationships, she stopped dating, and she focused solely on her career.

Like with the first time, as soon as Nyota focused on something else, a man literally fell into her lap.

His name was Halvad-Mar, and he was an Ensign in the science division; Nyota had always liked scientists. As an Orion like Gaila, he had many of her positive traits; cheerfulness, bravery, understanding and enthusiasm. He was smart—Spock described him as “having potential,” which was high praise coming from him—and he seemed to genuinely like Nyota for her own qualities rather than as just a body or just someone to stand and hear them while they gloated. When Halvad expressed a desire for a human relationship with her, Nyota of course accepted, and for nearly a month, she was content. After all, as a Ruddy Orion as well as a male, Nyota trusted that Halvad didn’t have Gaila’s more _negative_ qualities.

She was wrong. Nyota didn’t know if it was his biology or if it was cultural, but five weeks into the best relationship she’d had since Spock, he told her that he had slept with another woman, as well as another man. He apologized, but said he couldn’t help it. Honesty: that was another positive quality that Halvad had, although she hardly appreciated it just then. They broke up shortly after, and Nyota went for the chocolate again, with bananas this time.

The replicators got the texture all wrong, but the flavor was divine. When someone sat down across from her for the second time, she didn’t even have to look up to know it was Mister Scott.

“Easy, lass; if you eat too much, you’ll make yourself sick.”

He had never been anything but kind to her, and in return, Nyota had said he could call her “lass” if he really couldn’t help it. It didn’t sound like an insult or a step down, not coming from Mister Scott; of course, it probably helped that they spoke to each other only once in a blue moon.

“I know, Mister Scott. I won’t overeat.” She wondered if he’d help her if she was suddenly ill; she thought he might.

“I’ll take that as a promise, Lieutenant.”

She swallowed, and she wished her mouth wasn’t so dry.

“Mister Scott…can I call you something else?” She forced a laugh. “Since you seem to be my dinner companion more often than not when I’m like this.”

He looked surprised, even flattered. Nyota wondered why.

“Of course, Lieutenant. Scotty’s fine.”

“It wouldn’t be too informal?” Just because the Captain got away with it didn’t mean she could. She was only a Lieutenant, and she didn’t have the same death-defying bond that the Captain had with—well, with most people in his main crew.

Scotty just shook his head and smiled.

“Never. Make sure you have something to drink with that, too, Lieutenant.”

She nodded and ordered blackberry juice from the replicator. Scotty just shook his head and went about his business; Nyota realized, not unhappily, that he had come to the mess hall just for her.

She smiled and continued to eat her bananas.

********

After the nightmare with Halvad and the resulting meal that would make her dietician cringe, Nyota and Scotty spoke much more often. It wasn’t that they didn’t see each other before that—whenever the Captain and Spock went off to some planet or another, Scotty was inevitably left in charge as the next highest ranking official—but after gaining permission to be one of many that referred to him as “Scotty,” it was like a wall had been lifted between them. They spoke every time they could, now, and more often than not, their conversations had more jokes and laughter than even the ones she held with her own department.

Right now, Scotty was making her laugh even though the ship was on yellow alert. Klingons—it seemed that nine times out of ten, the Enterprise was on the lookout for Klingons when the Captain wasn’t around.

“That’s because it’s always Klingons, Lieutenant. They show up just to give you a challenge picking up their signals.”

Nyota laughed, and she spared him a glance while she waited for a response from Starfleet.

“Oh, they do not. You know very well that they’re just here to test your engines, Mister Scott.”

He grinned in her direction, and Nyota didn’t miss the look that was tossed between Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu. She’d been noticing a lot of those looks, lately.

“Not my engines, lass, but the Enterprise’s. I appreciate the thought, though.”

She laughed again, but stopped immediately at the familiar buzz in her headset. It took her only a moment to decipher the coded message, and she spun around, her face serious.

“I’m receiving orders from Starfleet Command, Mister Scott. They say…they say that we should warp out of orbit, since this planet is technically claimed by the Klingon Empire.”

Scotty paused and thought for just a moment.

“Acknowledge, Lieutenant Uhura. Lieutenant Bailey?”

The young acting-engineer jolted up from his consul.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re having some trouble with the engines.”

Lieutenant Bailey frowned.

“Ah…yes, sir…the…warp drive?”

Scotty nodded, his face cheerful.

“Is out of commission. We’re stuck here for possibly an hour, but we’ll be right careful.”

Lieutenant Bailey nodded, and logged the damage. He was also smiling.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Bailey, see if you can’t locate the Captain and Mister Spock.”

It took fifty-eight minutes to find the Enterprise’s missing personnel, and the time was spent making erratic bursts in Syclon IV’s orbit to avoid detection by Klingon scout ships. The blaring of the “red alert” was nerve-wracking, but it was okay; Mister Scott made terrible jokes the entire time.

By the time Captain Kirk and Spock arrived back on the bridge—inexplicably covered in mud—Nyota was about ready to strangle Scotty, but gently. She changed her mind when the Captain gave him an enormous hug, and left two slick brown handprints on his back.

“Scotty! How’s the ship?”

Scotty clasped the Captain’s shoulder, and he didn’t even seem to mind that he was now completely covered in mud on one side.

“Her warp drive was knocked out, but it’s better now, Captain.”

“Ah. How fortunate for us.”

“Very fortunate, Captain.”

They both sounded so disgustingly cheerful that Nyota knew it had been planned. She shared an exasperated look with Spock, and she was happier than she could say that he returned it. Maybe they could be friends again after all.

“Alright, Mister Scott, stop stalling. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Scotty let out a happy sigh and walked to the turbolift. All was right in his world when he was in the engine room, and Nyota almost envied that sort of security in life—though not half as much as she was glad for him.

“With pleasure, Captain.”

As they warped out of orbit, Nyota happily forwarded the resulting events to Starfleet Command in her daily report, and she had to remind herself that adding “Chief Engineer Scott seemed really happy today when we were shamelessly flirting” was _not_ relevant to the mission at hand.

********

Nyota could only be glad that the next time she saw Scotty wasn’t during one of her chocolate-comfort meals or a red alert. All the same, she hadn’t expected to run into him during shore leave, primarily because she knew they had been headed to entirely _different sides of the planet_.

She was still happy to see him though; she’d just been headed to a museum, and it hadn’t escaped her notice that they had an entire wing on the warp drive technology of various civilizations. She couldn’t help but think Scotty would have liked it, and just like that, there he was.

“Scotty!”

She waved, the motion shaking her entire body. He glanced in her direction, and almost looked…embarrassed?

By the time she caught up with him by darting across the somewhat small plaza, his hands were behind his back.

“Ah. Lieutenant. I mean, Miss Uhura.”

She sighed and smiled a quick, simple smile. "Honestly, Scott, you can call me Nyota. Or 'lass,' if that would be better for you."  

He looked surprised, again, and Nyota wondered what it was about her and him that made him react so strangely to friendly gestures.

Scotty smiled then, almost to himself.

“No, Nyota’s…fine. Just fine.”

Nyota glanced around, half expecting to see a flock of engineers following him.

“Scotty, what happened? I thought you were beaming down on another continent.”

Scotty shifted from foot to foot, and he almost leaned against the nearest building before he seemed to realize that he still had something in his hands.

“I was. But…I saw that there was going to be a fresh food market here today, and…well…”

He removed his hands from behind his back, and Nyota saw a newly-sealed cryogenic container containing a pink, bumpy thing roughly the shape of a squash, if a little bigger. Nyota couldn’t help but think that it looked a bit like a toy.

“Scotty, what _is_ that?”

Scotty glanced down, and back up.

“It’s a Kaferian apple. I noticed that you seemed to like non-traditional fruits with your chocolate, so I bought you one.”

“You…bought me a gift?” Not just any gift—Kaferian fruits were expensive because of their high quality, so much so that Nyota had never even seen one.

Scotty shook his head fervently, and looked like he wanted to disappear. Nyota couldn’t fully hide her disappointment.

“Well…not a gift, really. But if there are two things that replicators foul up completely, they’re fruit and alcohol.”

Nyota forced a laugh, and dug into her bag. Unlike Scotty, hers _had_ been intended as a gift.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Scotty’s eyes bulged, and it made the situation somehow more bearable.

“Fifty year old Scotch?”

She grinned; she _knew_ it. The Captain’s advice had actually been good.

“Well, forty-seven years, actually. Would you like to have a drink with me later?”

Scotty looked thrilled as he handled the bottle almost reverently.

“Absolutely. You look like a woman who can appreciate the finer things in life.”

It was the best compliment she’d ever received, made infinitely more so because she knew Scotty actually _meant_ it. For the first time since she’d run into him on-planet, she actually felt confident that maybe—just maybe—he shared her feelings of friendship and affection. Maybe even more.

“I can. Care to go to the museum with me? There’s an entire wing on Klingon warp engines.”

She thought he was going to say “no”; she expected it. He almost looked like he was going to, except he couldn’t seem to stop staring at her.

“I’d love to, lass, if it won’t be too boring for you.”

She placed his little cryogenic box in her bag, and intertwined their arms. He patted her softly on her hand, and when she experimentally clasped their hands together, he just squeezed back in response.

She smiled so widely her face hurt.

“Not at all, Scotty, not at all.”

********

When they got back to the Enterprise, Nyota made him stand in the entry room while she changed out of dusty clothes, offering him the bathroom if he wished to do the same. Scotty declined, and Nyota hurried, half expecting him to bolt if she wasted any time.

When she came out of her bedroom wearing a slinky black dress that not even Spock had seen, Scotty blanched, and Nyota frowned. _That_ was certainly not the reaction she was used to getting, even when she wasn’t someone’s type.

“Scotty?”

He swallowed, and sat down with a table safely between them.

“Look…Nyota, we have to…”

Nyota frowned even more.

“What? We have to _what_?”

If he said anything about protocol, she’d laugh. They’d been _holding hands_ on a Federation shore-leave planet, for God’s sake—protocol was already on the other side of the air lock.

“I don’t think you realize just how…well, I’m only a man.”

Nyota sighed and sat down, deliberately throwing one leg over the other. He was definitely not completely uninterested if the way he glanced at her legs and then back up was any indication.

“Did you think I thought you were an _alien_?”

Scotty grumbled, and Nyota almost missed his words.

“Well, that does seem to be your type.”

She wanted to be angry; she did. Did she seem so _shallow_? Sure, she could admit Scotty hadn’t seemed her type when she really talked to him for the first time, but people changed. Perceptions changed.

She liked—no, loved—his wide smile. She liked his short, dark hair. She thought his round face was charming and his build was strong and natural, and she loved his brown eyes that were golden in light and more of a comfort than chocolate whenever she was depressed.

She liked him. She might have even _loved_ him, to the point that she didn’t get angry when he said something that should have seemed insulting. Instead, she focused on how depressed he sounded, how resigned he was when he repeated himself.

“I’m only a man, Nyota.”

She rubbed her eyes with one hand. Starting a relationship shouldn’t have been this difficult; not even Spock had been this difficult.

Maybe that was what made it special.

“I think you’re saying something that I’m not understanding, Scotty, and _I’m_ the communications officer here.”

Scotty stood, and Nyota did too. She expected him to say something about needing to check on the engine room and leave; he surprised her by putting his hands on her bare arms and moving them slowly up and down. It was friendly. It was _wonderful_.

“Nyota, you’re brilliant, you’re beautiful. I’ve never seen _anyone_ as beautiful as you, and I know I’m not the sort of guy you would ever go for—too old, for one thing—but you’re _exactly_ the woman I would choose out of anyone I’ve ever met, and anyone I haven’t.”

Nyota absorbed the words like she was starved for compliments, and then she frowned.

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-eight, Nyota.” Spoken like someone had given him the kiss of death.

“So? I’m twenty-seven.” By her mother’s standards, she should have already been married.

Scotty sighed, and released her. His next words sounded so impossibly forlorn.

“ _Eleven years_ difference, Nyota.”

Her lips twitched. She couldn’t help it.

“Old enough to be my older brother, huh?”

Scotty looked exasperated.

“Nyota, I’m _serious_.”

She sighed. Really; she’d dated her _professor_ —did he really think a few years meant anything to her?

“So am I. Look, Mister Scott, the way I see it, we have two options. One, we can calmly take off all of our clothes and roll around together, or two—”

She reached around him, and grabbed the bottle of Scotch out of her bag to emphasize her point.

“—we can get drunk on this very expensive Scotch, and then do the exact same thing.”

Scotty sighed; she was probably giving him a headache, but she was _persistent_.

“Nyota, you know we’re not allowed to be drunk on-ship.”

A minor detail as far as Nyota was concerned.

“We’re on shore leave, so I’ll take my chances. What’s it going to be?”

There was a long pause, and then Scotty looked deep into her eyes.

“Nyota, you don’t get drunk on expensive Scotch.”

Nyota swallowed, and she was braced for the worst rejection she’d ever had when Scotty grabbed her upper arms again. This time, it was with a different sort of rubbing that made her wonder if maybe eleven years _did_ make a difference in the “experience” department.

“You get drunk on synthesized scotch, and save the good stuff for later.”

She laughed, and kissed him. He smiled under her lips.

********

Nyota wouldn’t say she’d had a lot of sex, but she was a healthy woman in her mid-twenties with a fairly loud libido and more than enough opportunities—so, she could safely say she’d had _enough_ sex to know when she was with someone gifted, someone good, or someone terrible.

Scotty wasn’t gifted, but Nyota knew that he was excellent enough that her mind made excuses for him. Maybe it was love; it probably was, but she didn’t care—to each her own. And what she had with Scotty was fun, was loving, was good, was passionate, and was exhausting enough that she didn’t care about the particulars. They fit so well that she wondered why it had taken them so long, and when it became apparent that he was wondering the same thing, she just wrapped her legs around him and held on tight.

When they lay together, sweaty and worn out, Scotty petted her stomach and kissed the back of her neck, and as she fell asleep, she thought she could get used to this.

The next day, just for the hell of it, they got drunk on synthesized Scotch and feed each other Kaferian apple slices—sans chocolate—before having sex on the floor of her cabin. It was even better the second time around, and Nyota couldn’t help but think this was the best shore leave she’d ever had.

And maybe she wouldn’t admit it, but she thought—just maybe—that she’d found her dream man after all.

********

End


End file.
